


Assurance

by swagUPwindowsDOWN



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Hospitals, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Jughead Jones Needs a Hug, Jughead whump, Kidnapping, Torture, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-01-30 01:20:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12643230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swagUPwindowsDOWN/pseuds/swagUPwindowsDOWN
Summary: “Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”Jughead goes missing. At first they don't think too much of it, maybe he forgot the time, maybe he skipped class to write, but time goes on and Jughead still isn't there. His friends become worried, and rightfully so, because Jughead learns that Clifford Blossom is more of a threat than they first thought.What's Clifford's plan? Can his friends find him before it's too late?





	1. The Shiny, Blue BMW

Jughead was taking the slightly unusual option of walking to school early. Sleep was imperative to him, something that he wouldn’t cut short unless absolutely necessary, but he had his reasons. Betty Cooper was the cause of his reason today. She wanted to meet before school to work on their latest evidence for the Blue and Gold. Their suspect board was really growing, especially since the getaway car that Jason and Polly had been planning to use was torched and almost all the evidence inside destroyed. There were just so many leads and Betty was eager to have the time to sift through it all without anyone else around. Or rather, she had that determined look in her eye that told him he was coming to school early, whether he liked it or not.

So here he was.

He stepped lightly on his feet as he fumbled around for his clothes in the darkness provided from the closed curtains, and made his way out of Archie’s room without waking the other boy. He made quick work of getting dressed and washed, and took extra care to make sure his beloved beanie was situated just right atop of his curls. There was that one at the front of the crown of his head that just wouldn’t stay in place, so he tucked it under the grey material for now. He knew it wouldn’t stay there, and that by first period his effort would be in vain, but it was nice to leave the house to at least seemingly looking semi-put-together.

He had told Archie and Fred where he would be, so that they didn’t wake up to find his spot on the air mattress empty and freak out. It was still surreal to think that there would actually be someone who would be worried that he wasn’t where he should be. FP, whilst he had tried to sober up, had never much cared for his son’s whereabouts unless he had noticeably been gone for a few days. But even then, he would never send out a search party.

He had learned that Archie and Fred really _would_ send out a search party when he had gone for a walk to clear his head halfway through the second night of his staying at their house. He was having a hard time coming to terms with the whole situation with his dad, on top of trying to comprehend the kindness that his friends were showing him, because it meant a lot to have people to lean on, even if he reluctantly did so. He had come back to a house full of his friends, Fred and Sheriff Keller all about to go out looking for him, which had left him thoroughly red in the face. He had later had one of his awkward heart-to-hearts with Archie about everything, but he never did leave the house again without telling Archie or Fred or without leaving a note.

It was a rather pleasant morning. There were little droplets of dew hanging off the blades of grass in uniformed front yards, though the sidewalk and road had already dried. The sun was just beginning to break through the small amount of cloud that had drifted through the skies overnight, leaving a warm, yellow glow that left even his dark soul feeling content. There weren’t many people out at this time, only a few cars passing by as important business people went to their offices earlier than everyone else. It was because of the lack of activity in the neighbourhood, then, that made him realise someone was following him.

He was only about halfway to school, but there was definitely the sound of a car in the distance, travelling at a slow pace. Its tires crunched through loose pieces of gravel and scuffed around the corners as the owner attempted to keep the speed down to a minimum. He took a chance to turn around and immediately the sleek motor roared and sped up to creep alongside him. It was a shiny, blue BMW, one of those overly long models with a huge engine and slightly tinted windows. No one in Riverdale could easily afford such a thing. Apart from one family.

Clifford Blossom rolled down the driver’s side window and smiled nonchalantly up at Jughead. Jughead simply glanced back warily at the man, someone who he didn’t think even knew his name, and kept on walking. If he could just keep pace and get to school, then this weirdness would be over and he could talk with Betty about Clifford Blossom, king of the maple, accompanied him to class that morning.

“Forsythe, my boy,” Clifford greeted and Jughead just about supressed his surprise, that yes, he really did know his name – sort of.

“It’s Jughead,” he commented dryly, his eyes focussing on the sidewalk in front of him again so he didn’t have to look at the man beside him. He briefly considered how strange the sight must look to anyone else who may stumble upon the scene. A lanky 16-year-old walking alongside a car worth tens of thousands of dollars, that was only going walking speed at best. It must look bizarre.

“Jughead, such a lovely morn and you’re already out and about getting to school. That’s what I like to see, young men making the most of getting a good education.”

“Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”

Clifford chuckled and Jughead wondered what he found funny in what he had just said.

“And a smart one you are, too. Very well, I came to ask you if you’ve seen your father since his unfortunate arrest over our son’s murder.”

Jughead stopped and so did the car. His eyes narrowed at Clifford, the man’s own eyes gleaming with something that Jughead couldn’t quite make out. It unnerved him where the conversation was going, but he stood his ground.

“Not much,” he replied stiffly, and his brows furrowed further when the Blossom father began rummaging around the middle console as he talked, “what’s it to you?”

As soon as he saw it he should have moved, he should have run, or even knocked on some poor sleeping soul’s door to ask for help or get refuge. He knew then, from that moment forward, that the Blossom was a real threat, not just a lead they were supposing on their suspect chart, and that this was very very real. But he didn’t move a muscle, foolishly and bravely at the same time. His eyes trained on the object in Clifford’s hand and hands clenching into fists.

“Well, you see, Jughead, your father did a lot for me in the days before Jason’s death. It may have helped that I told him that I’d get my hands on his son if he didn’t listen, but I want assurance that he’ll stick to his little story. And you are my assurance. Now,” Clifford cocked the silver pistol in his hand and pointed it directly at Jughead’s forehead.

“I think you should get in the car, don’t you?”


	2. The Blue and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”
> 
> Jughead goes missing. At first they don't think too much of it, maybe he forgot the time, maybe he skipped class to write, but time goes on and Jughead still isn't there. His friends become worried, and rightfully so, because Jughead learns that Clifford Blossom is more of a threat than they first thought.
> 
> What's Clifford's plan? Can his friends find him before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it, the next chapter of Assurance! I am so amazed by the response I have gotten for the first chapter, having never written on here before, and it's spurred me on to get this on here. 
> 
> We meet pretty much everyone else here, apart from a couple of characters, so I hope you enjoy this next instalment.

Archie Andrews walked to school alone that morning. It was unusual without someone else to talk to, as he had been walking with Betty ever since he could remember, and Jughead had joined them both as soon as he had moved in also. Still, it was a sunny morning that would hopefully break through to a sunny day, and he couldn’t be too fussed.

His friends were busy working on the Blue and Gold, their school newspaper, and he was happy for them that they finally got to explore their interests in journalism beyond their own notebooks and computers.

It also was a handy hub in which they could discuss the recent murder investigation. Call them the Scooby gang or whatever (there were five of them after all, but that then posed the question – who was the dog?), but he felt like they were really getting somewhere with all of their leads. Whilst Sheriff Keller and the police department were working to find out what had happened to the former jock, Jason Blossom, he couldn’t help but feel that his friends and himself were one step up on them. Even Kevin admitted that his father was struggling to pull everything together since he had lost his evidence when their house was broken into.

Arriving at the school building, Archie met Veronica at the entrance. She smiled down at him from her place on the steps, wearing a simple white top and black skirt that made her red lipstick all the more noticeable.

“No Jughead or Betty today?” she asked, eyes drawing upon his lonesome self, the only company being his guitar that he always seemed to have with him these days.

“Yeah, Betty asked Jug to go in early, working on their next article or whatever. And as much as I would like to help out, I figured I didn’t need to be in an hour early to do so.”

“Miss an hour in bed to come to school early? Yeah that’s totally not you,” she chuckled as they made their way down the hall, “not really Jug either.”

“Not Jug, no, but I think Betty has him wrapping around her little finger already,” Archie raised his eyebrows and Veronica wrapped her arm through one of his.

“Just like I’m wrapping you around mine?”  


* * *

Walking into the Blue and Gold, Archie and Veronica expected to find a particular pair of lovebirds either typing away at their computers or mulling over the murder board and its clues. They certainly didn’t expect to find a pacing Betty and Kevin Keller on one of the couches, frantically calling someone.

“Woah, Betty, what’s going on? Why are you looking so stressed?”

Betty stopped mid-step and hastily turned to the new presences in the room. Her eyes were blown wide and her breath was coming out in short little pants, like it did when she got worked up about something.

“Why am I stressed? Do you even notice who _isn't_ here when he said he would be?”

It was then that Archie realised Jughead was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like he was a bad friend, he just expected the lanky boy to be hiding away in the corner like he usually did, but a quick look confirmed that he wasn’t. Going by the look on Veronica’s face, she had thought that as well.

“Please tell me he slept in or something?” Betty asked Archie, but her face fell when the red head was already shaking his head before she finished her question.

“He left well before I got up. He told us he was coming here early last night.”

“Voicemail, again…” Kevin commented, entering the conversation for the first time since the group had gathered. He pressed the lock button on his phone and placed it on the table in front of him with a sigh. “I’ve tried him four times now, and it’s voicemail on each one. I left him a few, but point is I can’t get through.”

“Wait,” Veronica paused, her eyebrows raising, “you have Jughead’s number? Since when? I didn’t think he would eagerly pass those details on to Kevin Keller of all people.”

Kevin gasped in mock hurt as he pretended to be offended. “Veronica, how dare you suggest that our brooding emo author wouldn’t have the heart to give me, bright and flamboyant Kevin Keller, his phone number.”

Everyone looked at him.

“He gave it to me for research purposes,” Kevin admitted under his breath and the others laughed. Betty sighed and tightened the ponytail on top of her head. They were still no further in finding out where on earth her boyfriend could be.

“Look,” Archie reasoned, “Jug wouldn’t just disappear. Maybe he stopped off at Pop’s on the way here, you know how he is with his food, and lost track of time. Fell asleep? Hell, maybe he took his laptop out and became submerged in all things that is Jason Blossom’s murder. All we can do is keep trying, he’ll probably turn up and sit with us at lunch, right?”

The others nodded and Betty let out the breath she had been unintentionally holding since she arrived at the newspaper room to find no sign of the boy. Archie was right, Jug could have stopped for many reasons, and just because a killer was still on the loose didn’t mean they had suddenly got to Jughead.

“You’re right, I’m probably overreacting. We’ll reconvene at lunch, and if he isn’t there then, we’ll call him again and figure something out. But most likely, he’ll be there for the dodgy cafeteria food.”

The others agreed and gradually made their way to their classes as students started filing into the building, ready for the day. Betty packed up the last of her notebooks and made sure to take the key to the room so she could lock it up. She glanced back at the space Jughead usually occupied and shrugged her backpack onto her shoulders.

She could only hope that Archie was right.  


* * *

Jughead sat in the plush leather seat of the BMW, back rigid as a plank of wood. He kept eying the gun, now resting in the front pocket of Clifford’s tweed blazer, out of the corner of his eye, whilst simultaneously keeping track of where they were heading.

They hadn’t made it anywhere unfamiliar yet, and were still going through the backstreets of Riverdale. Jughead had an inkling of where Clifford intended to take him, but he couldn’t be sure. There was no guessing what a man with a gun could or would do.

“You need to relax a bit, my boy,” Clifford commented into the silence, causing Jughead to startle slightly at the sound of his voice when conversation was clearly not going to help matters.

“I’m sorry if being in a car with a gun doesn’t make me feel warm and cosy inside,” he couldn’t help but quip, and suddenly found the butt of the gun making contact with the side of his face. Jughead saw stars and the world darkened slightly around the edges. He groaned softly as a headache made its way to the forefront, but he blinked some of it away and stared shocked at Clifford.

The man was indifferent, having replaced his gun back to its resting place and eyes on the road again. Jughead looked down as red droplets splattered onto his hand and gingerly felt up the side of his face that Clifford had just pistol whipped him. Sure enough, there was a gash trailing blood down his face from the top of his cheekbone and Jughead pressed unsuccessfully at the wound, trying to stop the drips and close it up.

“You need to realise that your odds are down, Jughead. You play with fire and you get burned. You show no respect, and you get hurt. Understand?”

Jughead nodded mutely, eyes in front of him again as the car travelled through a set of iron gates. They travelled upwards, until Clifford stopped the car. He turned to Jughead, his fingers reaching out and grasping the brunette’s chin roughly, fingernails digging in. He turned the boy’s face towards him and smirked.

“I said do you understand?”

Jughead felt a chill travel down his spine as he looked into the icy blue eyes before him. He gulped and hardened his face.

“I understand,” he spoke clearly into the quietness of the car, but that wasn’t enough for Clifford.

“And what did I just say about respect? I would like to walk you to our destination, but perhaps I need to find other means to transfer you there myself?”

Jughead searched the man’s eyes and then looked down to the gun again. He would do it, he knew he would. He’d already done so much, and it had only been about an hour.

“I understand…sir.”

Clifford nodded, willing to take the reluctant response for now, and turned back to take the keys out of the ignition. Jughead studied the building in front of him, his hunch having been right all along.

Staring back at him was Thornhill Manor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hoping that you're all liking this is my main aim. Please comment and let me know what you think!
> 
> By the way, if anyone at all knows how to get the page break lines I see on lots of other stories between scenes (literally a block line in the centre of the page) I would be really grateful to know! I've had to improvise with my own version, but I would really like to do it properly. Thank you if you do.
> 
> More to follow...
> 
> ~swagUPwindowsDOWN


	3. The Zip Tie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”
> 
> Jughead goes missing. At first they don't think too much of it, maybe he forgot the time, maybe he skipped class to write, but time goes on and Jughead still isn't there. His friends become worried, and rightfully so, because Jughead learns that Clifford Blossom is more of a threat than they first thought.
> 
> What's Clifford's plan? Can his friends find him before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! The response rate on this story is really amazing and overwhelming, but most of all, I'm so happy that so many of you are enjoying it.
> 
> I'm sorry this couldn't be up sooner, deadlines are an unnecessary evil!
> 
> But anyway, here's chapter 3. Enjoy!

Betty’s knee juddered nervously under the picnic table, rapidly moving up and down at such a pace that Kevin and Veronica had scrunched their own legs up towards them, after being jogged one too many times. The blonde’s eyes were staring unblinkingly at the door that merged the cafeteria with the outside eating space, and she had only managed a few bites out of her sandwich.

After a short while, a redhead appeared amongst the crowd of chattering teenagers and Betty’s posture immediately perked up. Her knee stopped dancing around to its own beat, and there was a desperate hope behind her irises.

Archie hated to have to be the one to rid of that, but he looked just as troubled as Betty. As he reached the table, he sat down with a thump and his bag slid off of his shoulders on its own. He dared to look up at the rest of his friends, Veronica and Kevin holding similar looks on their countenances, but he shook his head heavily.

“No sign? At all?” Veronica asked incredulously. They had all thought Jughead would have showed his face by now, but it seemed that it was not to be. To say it was strange for Jughead to miss school, let alone a meal, was a massive understatement.

“He should have been in three of my classes this morning, but nothing. He was marked absent for all of those and the teachers haven’t heard any word as to why he isn’t in. They’re presuming he could be sick, but that would mean he’d be at home, and he _isn't_. Some teachers think he could be bunking, but you know Jug wouldn’t do that.”

“No, and he doesn’t break promises and he swore he’d be at the Blue and Gold with me this morning,” Betty bit her lip anxiously as she looked around. Her eyes spotted Reggie and Chuck sitting over with some other Neanderthal jocks, and she glanced back at Archie worriedly.

“What if Reggie and Chuck did something to him? You know how they push him around sometimes.”

“Pushing people into lockers is one thing, but they’re too cowardly to do anything else. Plus, they’re on watch ever since they were caught by my dad trying to buy alcohol with fake IDs,” Kevin commented, swiping a hand over his forehead.

Archie pulled out his mobile and rung Jughead’s number. It was one of the most called on his phone, and he had it ringing within seconds. However, all it did was keep ringing...and ringing…and ringing…until it was abruptly cut off. He tried again but was met with an annoying voice telling him that the number was unreachable at that time.

“No answer,” he sighed as he let his phone fall carelessly out of his hand and onto the table. The hand that had held the device came up to his chin, and he rested his head on it. They sat in silence until he suddenly frowned. “Wouldn’t I get voicemail if he didn’t answer?”

“Yeah,” Veronica answered, not quite sure where he was going with this, “why?”

“Because it rang, and then cut off. And when I rung back, it didn’t ring at all, only told me it was unava- “

“-That means his phone is off,” Betty interrupted, clinging to the new piece of information like it was a precious jewel. “And if it rung before, then it has only just been turned off. Literally, right this second.”

The group all stared at her confused. What on earth was going on?

* * *

“There you go, nice and tight!” Clifford exclaimed as he closed the zip tie with a flourish. Jughead winced as he felt the harsh plastic bite into his wrists, but he was grateful that he was currently turned away from the man, so that he didn’t see the grimace.

Jughead was on hyper alert as he was dragged from the car. He immediately glanced towards the many windows of Thornhill, but each one was either shrouded by curtains or appeared unoccupied. Trust his luck for him to be taken somewhere where he went to school with one of the occupants, but for her to already be at the institution when he got there. 

“Now, I don’t want any yelling or screaming, ok?” the brunette felt the muzzle of the gun being placed firmly at his back, digging into his spine. “Any sound and I will not hesitate to make sure you never walk again. And if anyone were to hear the shot, I’d blame it on ridding a rodent that tried to come into my house. Not so far from the truth really.”

Clifford quickly pushed him along with the grip on his arm and the gun at his back. He stumbled with his hands behind his back, his sense of equilibrium completely off without the limbs down by his sides where they belonged. Every sound made him twitch nervously, worried that Clifford might lose patience with him and shoot him anyway.

Eventually, they made it to the barn that resided left of the house, down a small path. He could still see Thornhill from his vantage point, but there was still no one else around to see his peril. He jumped slightly as something clanged. The Blossom father began to unlock several padlocks that ran all the way from the top to the bottom of the barn doors, and he quickly realised that he was no longer behind Jughead, and that he himself was _behind him_. 

His eyes darted to the path they had just taken and back to Clifford, who was mistakenly taking his time with the locks and not even paying attention to his prisoner. Jughead supposed that the man wouldn’t think he would be so stupid as to try and get away from him, considering he had a gun, but that’s where he was wrong.

Jughead had had a fair share of near misses as a child, especially due to his father’s ‘line of work’. He hadn’t known about FP’s affiliation with the Serpents until his mother had upped and left, taking Jellybean with her, but ever since that day, FP had thrust himself into the life more than ever. So much so, in fact, that, just a few months after his thirteenth birthday, Jughead had once found himself being cornered by several men and a van.

It was by far the most frightened Jughead had ever been in his life, as the thugs had tossed him around and mocked him for being a gang leader’s son. “Some fierce son,” they had said as he was thrown to the pavement and whacked round the jaw. He had briefly heard comments about taking him, putting him up for ransom and watching the great FP Jones cry for his lost boy, but that had soon been drowned out in his fuzzy hearing by more shouts, familiar shouts, and his dad was there, laying into the guy that had uttered the sentiment. Other Serpents had joined the brawl, and Jughead had turned his head to the side as his father knelt beside him and pulled him into a hug.

“Never again,” he had whispered into his messy locks that were quickly becoming matted with blood, as Jughead had started to cry. “I promise, we’ll get you some knowledge, some self-defence, yeah? I’m sorry son, I’m so sorry.” 

FP had been true to his word. He had set aside some time with his son to teach him a few moves so that no one would be able to get hold of him and drag him away somewhere. He would be able to defend himself in case anyone else decided they wanted to try their luck with his dad. It didn’t mean they did stop coming after him, but it certainly meant he could handle himself much better.

One of those so-called lessons had been with several methods of imprisonment binding his hands together, and a blindfold over his eyes. The object of the game – escape. Despite having to try multiple times, he had soon figured out a way to get out of the tricky situation, and had found he was actually quite good at manipulating his arms around to help the cause. It probably helped that he was built lean rather than stocky like Archie was.

That was exactly what he found himself doing whilst Clifford had his back turned away from him and his attention on the padlocks. As quietly as he could, he bent forwards, making sure to adjust his weight accordingly so he wouldn’t just embarrassingly face plant onto the ground. As carefully as he could, he raised both of his hands, bending his knees to ground himself, all the while keeping his gaze locked on his kidnapper to make sure he didn’t realise what he was doing. He held his breath and, as quickly as he could, with all the strength he could muster, he brought his hands down onto his back whilst simultaneously pulling outwards.

The zip tie flung apart the minute it hit his back with the added pressure, and Jughead didn’t even think twice. He didn’t think about Clifford having a gun. Or that there wasn’t anyone else to help him as the Blossoms lived far from the residential streets. He didn’t need to think at all about what he was about to do. 

Jughead ran.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting serious now. Let me know what you thought!
> 
> ~swagUPwindowsDOWN


	4. The Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”
> 
> Jughead goes missing. At first they don't think too much of it, maybe he forgot the time, maybe he skipped class to write, but time goes on and Jughead still isn't there. His friends become worried, and rightfully so, because Jughead learns that Clifford Blossom is more of a threat than they first thought.
> 
> What's Clifford's plan? Can his friends find him before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness! I didn't mean for this to take two weeks to be updated, but life apparently has other plans. I have been thinking about it all of the time though, and am now able to get another chapter out.
> 
> Once again thank you for the amazing response, I wouldn't be so motivated and overjoyed without it.
> 
> And so, without further ado...

Ragged breaths echoed amongst his heavy footfalls. Breathe in, breathe out. Right foot, left foot, right foot, left foot. Repeat. This mantra was the only thought he had, all of the others having fled the minute he decided on his rather brazen escape plan. It seemed that there wasn't enough oxygen in the air to soothe the burn arising in his chest, but he ploughed onwards.

It hadn't taken long for Clifford to realise that his prisoner had vanished, he wasn't that oblivious after all, and he soon gave chase. Jughead had heard a shout as soon as he had rounded the barn, but he hadn't dared to look back. He didn't want to lose any time, and to see Clifford hot on his heels would be even more intimidating. He had, however, briefly glanced at Thornhill as he passed, but was disheartened when there was still no sign of activity.

But what was he thinking? He couldn't exactly go in and look for a phone that he had no idea where it was. That would just be playing Clifford at a game he would be certain to win.

Instead, his gaze was set in front of him, hardened and focused. He was currently descending down the long hill that for some reason never seemed to end. The slight slope made it easier on his legs though, and he was able to increase his speed. His feet thudded against the asphalt and he finally made it down the lane that led to the first of many residential streets where he could get help.

In the background, he could hear the man behind him panting and still keeping close. He had to admit that Clifford certainly was fit for his age. If Jughead calculated right, then Clifford would be coming to the bottom of the hill just as he reached the first residential street, and he gave a small cry of relief when he turned the corner to be greeted with near identical houses and their perfectly mowed gardens.

Now, where to? Should he knock on some unknown person’s door and trust they would help him, rather than thinking him a weirdo? What if Clifford caught up with him and told them that he was some long-lost relative of his who happened to be having a mental breakdown? He couldn’t risk it. That was the unfortunate thing about Riverdale. Everyone claimed to know everyone, but no one knew Jughead.

The Sherriff’s station was just a few streets away, he thought, as he frantically thought up a plan. Keep up this pace and he would be able to get there and yell for help. But that depended on his ability to maintain his current speed, and he was tiring.

He couldn’t give up though. He couldn’t voluntarily let Clifford win, so he pushed on. Using the adrenaline pumping vivaciously through his veins, he lugged his body onwards, knowing that his lungs would come back for a vengeance later. The lactic acid building up in his legs just spurred him forward in his impossible task, but hope shone in his eyes for the first time since he had been taken just that morning.

That was...until about a street away from the station, something pounced at him from the right side, knocking what little air he still had out of his lungs as he sprawled on the sidewalk. His hands were unceremoniously shoved behind his back and held with a strong grip.

Jughead’s forehead dropped to the paved sidewalk, and he turned his head to the right. Staring back at him was a small path covered with undergrowth and shrouded by trees. Of course, Clifford would know all of the shortcuts in this town. His resolved weakened; he closed his eyes as the man on top of him chuckled.

“Thought it would be that easy, hmm?” Clifford teased.

Suddenly, something sharp pricked at his neck, piercing the skin. Pressure was applied, and Jughead felt a cold burn as whatever it was seeped into his bloodstream. He gulped as the world began to spin slightly, even though he was lying down and wasn’t moving.

“That should keep you down. We don’t want you trying to make any more escape attempts, do we?”

Clifford got up off of him, fully confident that Jughead wouldn’t be able to get away from him now that he was inebriated. Jughead did try, he really did. It took him a few seconds more than it usually would have to realise that he was no longer being pinned down, but he rolled forward and attempted to push himself to his feet.

Attempted being the key word.

What actually happened was his weight simply shifting so that he flopped on his side, rather than his stomach, and any strength in his legs had gone, so he couldn’t get any footing to stand. His whole body had turned to jelly. He was an uncoordinated mess lying on the sidewalk, unable to control anything.

Jughead whimpered pathetically.

“Whaaa ya dnnn t mmmmmeeee?” he slurred, garbled sounds pouring out of his mouth in no real order. He sounded awful in his own ears, his lips numb and tingly.

“What was that? I didn’t quite understand you,” Clifford sing-songed as he swiftly manoeuvred the boy into his arms, cradling the limp form to his chest. Jughead tried to squirm out of his hold, but at that moment he could have gone up in a fight against a new-born baby and lost. His shouts for help were no better. If anyone heard them, they would think he were a wounded animal and not a kidnapped teenager. He couldn’t muster the strength to say anything else.

“I wouldn’t be worried, boy. I just gave you something to help your body relax a little more, so that you’re more likely to stay in one place. After all, you were heading for Sheriff Keller, and you definitely can’t be doing that. Why, I have so much planned for you, son, you’d miss out on all the fun!”

Jughead seriously doubted that ‘fun’ would be his word of choice. Torturing, sure, or maybe even life-threatening, but he didn’t really want to think about what was in store for him just yet.

However, just as Clifford started walking with his precious cargo, a shrill ringing made itself known. Jughead cursed in his head, where his voice still worked. He had been able to hide his mobile phone earlier, switching it on to silent mode so that Clifford wouldn’t notice. But now, it was very noticeable indeed. It must have flicked off of silent when the man had jumped on him before. And now, he would have no chance at getting help.

“What’s this?!” Clifford yelled, and abruptly dropped Jughead to the dirt floor. Jughead groaned as his back jarred against the solid ground, as his sluggish body couldn’t move quick enough to stop the harsh impact. He coughed slightly from where the wind had been knocked out of him, as he felt the Blossom patting down his pockets.

“Looks like your friends are trying to check up on you,” he teased as he pulled the black object from Jughead’s pocket. Jughead could just make out ‘Archie’ on the caller ID. “Were you hiding this from me, boy?”

The boy froze, watching as Clifford very gently placed the still ringing mobile onto the ground in front of him. Then, with a brutal force, he stamped down on the device, rendering it a splintered, mechanical heap amongst the leaves littering the forest path. Jughead sucked in a breath as the man then rounded on him, the same, fierce look on his face, anger bubbling up in his irises.

“You thought you could hide that from me? You were going to try and call your friends! How dare you!”

Jughead couldn’t breathe. One minute he was lying in the mud in a lifeless jumble, and the next, there was a foot slotted into his abdomen. Fire burned in the pit of his stomach as the steel-capped boot twisted and dug in farther, hooking underneath one of his ribs. He was able to suck in a shallow breath as Clifford lifted up, only to lose it again when the foot came back down on his chest.

Something cracked.

He felt like his poor, cheap mobile phone, lying in pieces right beside him. He was now officially broken, probably the reluctant owner of a cracked or broken rib that was making his chest rage with a searing heat. He moaned through his numb lips, his arms lethargically encircling his abused torso, trying to find some sort of comfort. Clifford picked him up again, throwing the boy over his shoulder this time, eliciting a cry of pain from the teenager.

“Never hide anything from me again. You now know the consequences, and trust me, that was only a warm up.”

Jughead’s ‘ride’ back to the barn was far from comfortable. Clifford’s shoulder dug into his chest, right where he imagined a large, purply-black bruise to be forming. It ached constantly, and he knew that Clifford found it entertaining, because every other turn he would shift him so that the area was well and truly blasting pain. He all but wished he would pass out, if merely to just stop himself from feeling like a sack of potatoes.

No one saw anything, the path being shrouded by trees and hidden away from the main streets. Jughead had never known of this shortcut, but he sure as hell wished it didn’t exist. At least then someone might have seen them, and thought to question why Clifford was hauling a boy over his shoulders. Back here, not even the squirrels batted an eyelid.

This time, when they entered the barn, Clifford brought him straight over to the back wall, and reached for something out of sight. Jughead was dumped onto the floor, hands pulled tight behind him and up against a pipe. However, no zip ties were used now. Instead, cold metal clasped around his wrists, pinching at the skin as his captor tightened them as far as they would go. When he stood back, Jughead attempted to pull his hands away to see what had happened, and he found that he had been handcuffed to the pipe behind him. 

There was no escaping this one.

“Now, you be a good boy and stay put. Not that you could get away, but I like to think you’d listen this time,” Clifford said, patting the boy’s face roughly and nudging his ribs one last time before he exited. Jughead groaned low in his throat as he registered all of those padlocks once again being secured, sealing him away from the outside world.

He was alone. And he was worried. And he didn’t know what to do.

He wouldn’t have admitted it before, but now that he had suffered a taste of what Clifford could do, he was overwhelmed by an emotion he had never really experienced since that time with those thugs when he was little.

Jughead was terrified.

He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout and cry, but his drugged mind wouldn’t let him. He felt something slowly trail down his cheek, until it dropped off of his chin and into his lap. This was followed by another and another, until he was silently sobbing in the darkness.

What was he going to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You didn't think it would be that easy for him, did you?
> 
> More to come soon! Please leave your comments and let me know what you think!
> 
> ~swagUPwindowsDOWN


	5. The Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”
> 
> Jughead goes missing. At first they don't think too much of it, maybe he forgot the time, maybe he skipped class to write, but time goes on and Jughead still isn't there. His friends become worried, and rightfully so, because Jughead learns that Clifford Blossom is more of a threat than they first thought.
> 
> What's Clifford's plan? Can his friends find him before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodness, how long have I been gone for? Too long is the answer. 
> 
> I'm very sorry for not updating this sooner. Around the time that I last updated, assignments were just starting to be handed in and I was incredibly stressed and pushed for time. After that, Christmas came, and I guess it all didn't really add up to an update that easily. But never fear, I'm back with another chapter for all of you who kept reassuring me you wanted more, and motivated me to get this out. Thank you for hanging on!
> 
> And guess what? Today is my birthday, so it would extra nice if you leave a comment to tell me what you think of this chapter. It's definitely a bit...creepy.
> 
> Anyway, that's all I'm going to say for now. Happy reading!

Jughead jolted awake the next morning as birds screeched somewhere in the distance. His neck jarred and he winced as he felt the beginning of a twinge in the muscles leading all the way down his spine. That’s what he got for sleeping up against a metal pole in a decrepit barn.

Blinking sleepily, he sighed as he was reminded of his situation. For a second there, he had dreamt that he had been on his way to school like normal. In fact, the only thing he had been panicking about was his homework being late. Waking up into a world where his ribs burned and his head pounded was a far cry from tenth grade English Literature assignments.

It couldn’t have been much past dawn. The barn was still cast in a dusky blackness, objects still fuzzy and engulfed in their silhouettes. Shards of amber light were just beginning to splinter through the cracks in the wood panels lining the walls, but the birds were already obnoxiously singing away to each other, so he imagined that pretty soon the town would come alive with the hustle and bustle of human life.

What he would give to be a part of that. It was strange; his life had been hell before, what with his dad being drunk all the time and also a part of the Serpents. He was constantly checking the doors and windows at night, not just to keep his dad’s rivals out, but the man himself, in. Then, as this whole murder situation unfolded, he had gained friends, or re-gained them in Archie’s case, and became even more than that with Betty. 

His father being arrested was a low point, strikingly so. He had truly believed that his father never had anything to do with Jason Blossom’s death, and all of that loyalty had been crushed under his feet when he had found out the night of the dance. 

He had done a typical Jughead-esque move by running away from his problems and hiding out in Pop’s, where he found out his father may have been framed, and then his emotions were back on their rollercoaster again. But things had been shakily improving and looking upwards…and now, he was back at rock bottom.

As the light poured in and brightened up his prison, Jughead could finally get a proper look at his new ‘home.’ There wasn’t much held in the barn, and he guessed that the Blossom’s only used it for the storage of their beloved maple syrup. The area behind the barrels of the sticky substance, where he was tied, was practically bare, straw littering the floor like clumps of dandruff. There were a few rakes up one wall, rusted from years of abandonment and on the other-

Holy fuck.

Jughead’s eyes roamed over every inch of the wall to the left of him, paling more and more with each new feature he took in. His chest suddenly felt tighter, and a cold fear seeped into his veins as he stared at…himself.

The wall was covered. Less like a mural, more like a shrine. Pictures, photographs, pinned up with nails, all neatly lined up next to one another, and then more overlapping those, because clearly there had not been enough space for each to have its own spot. They varied in size and shape, some having been ripped in the haste to join their colony, but every single one a horror. 

Some were months old, a year maybe, before this whole Jason Blossom thing even happened, before Archie slept with Grundy and left him alone on the day of their road trip. But all held the common theme of Jughead Jones.

In some he was at school with his friends, eating lunch and talking, mouth open in mid-sentence. Others looked to have been taken through the window of his Literature class, his Math class…even Gym, and Jughead knew there weren’t any windows in there either. More alarmingly, there were a multitude of photos taken when he was at home – be it the trailer or at Archie’s. Most were through windows, one possibly through the backdoor of the Andrews’ house, which would have been left ajar for Vegas to get back in. 

But it didn’t stop there. There were some which included his friends, and all of their faces had been blacked out. He was shirtless in an overwhelming amount, one he was in his underwear, and possibly the most disturbing right in the middle. Not that he wasn’t already sickened by seeing pictures of himself half-naked, but this last one took the biscuit. He was sleeping.

It may not have sounded like much, but it was. It was terrifying because that one hadn’t been taken from through a window. There wasn’t a sheen or a film, as if focusing through glass, and it was far too up close. Clifford Blossom had been in Archie’s house. More frighteningly, he had been in Archie’s room, late at night, when the two boys had been sleeping in there. He could tell because he could just make out a tuft of red hair in the corner of the frame. 

Clifford Blossom had stood there and watched him sleep, like the creeper that he is, and took fascination with it. Goodness knows how long he had stood there, watching Jughead like a prized possession, like a pet, awing over the sight. He had been defenceless, unaware of the danger both he and Archie were in. Clifford could have done _anything_ to them, and they wouldn’t have known. And if he had gotten in once, who’s to say he hadn’t spent many nights in the room with them? 

If it wasn’t enough to process all at once, thoughts racing at a dizzying speed, the tell-tale click of a lock from outside caused Jughead’s breath to hitch. Clifford would know that Jughead had seen the pictures, he couldn’t miss them.

The door opened.

* * *

Another day dawned on the small town of Riverdale, but for some who had been up all night, it wasn’t welcome. Sherriff Keller sat opposite Archie, Betty and Veronica on the Andrews’ couch. Kevin perched on the arm of the sofa next to his father, and Fred Andrews stood with his arms crossed behind the kids, face troubled.

“He never came home?”

“I haven’t seen him since the night before last, when he told me he would be getting up early to meet Betty,” Archie replied, eyes hard and set. He had spent all night with his father searching any places that Jughead may have gone to. They had been out with flashlights until the sun had risen, and they finally went home to call the police. Betty and Veronica had helped up until midnight, with Veronica sleeping round Betty’s to make it easier, but Mama Cooper had wanted them home, and no one could argue with her.

“What was he meeting you for Betty?”

“We were getting things together for the paper, seeing if we could tell who the people of Riverdale thought killed Jason…” not a complete lie and more a half-truth really, but she didn’t want to come off as obsessed with the murder, and have to deal with unwanted questions.

Sherriff Keller sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead as he looked at the notes he had written down. He cleared his throat and directed his next question at Archie and Fred, since he knew they had taken the boy in during his father’s incarceration.

“I have to ask this, so please don’t be alarmed, but has Jughead been acting strange or different lately? Has his behaviour seemed, you know, out of sorts or concerning?”

Fred began to reply but Archie interrupted him.

“What do you mean concerning? Why would his behaviour be concerning?”

“Archie…what with Jughead’s situation, his father being arrested for murder, it wouldn’t be unusual for him to be upset and down on his luck, and when people are faced with these things they can sometimes become irrational or desperate-“

“No!” Archie cried, balling his hands into fists, “you’re suggesting that Jughead ran away? Or even worse, offed himself? Jughead wouldn’t do either of those things. He hasn’t taken any of his stuff, personal stuff like photos of his sister or anything, and he may have been more upset than usual, but he wouldn’t kill himself, he wouldn’t do that. Not to us, or his parents, but especially not to Jellybean.”

“I’m sorry Archie, but we have to look into all possibilities. You’re going to have to face the possibility that Jughead may not be as well off as you think he is. I have my officers scouring the town, and the local area. We’ll be going into Greendale next, to see if anyone saw anything. We’re trying.”

“Well try harder,” Archie replied, voice breaking. “Jughead’s out there somewhere. And he definitely isn’t dead.”

* * *

“Do you like my collection then?”

Silence. 

“Oh, come on, I thought I’d quite well mastered the art of photography. Some of these even look professional, don’t you think?”

More silence.

Jughead seethed as Clifford Blossom examined each of the photos, stroking over a few of the more disturbing ones.

“You’re a creep.”

Clifford threw his head back and laughed, clutching his stomach. He paused as he caught his breath, but Jughead didn’t know what he thought was so funny.

“I’m no such thing. Call me…an artist, a worshiper, an inventor…see, Jughead, you are my new project. I’ve been watching you for a while, actually, long before this whole Jason business arose. You just amazed me. Here you are, a scrawny, feeble teenager, but with such a bite, a verbal vocabulary as quick as a whip and a defiance that I haven’t seen since your own father was a young boy. You’re perfect, but so underestimated. I saw the potential of what you could be, what I can make you become. And don’t you worry, you _will_ become it.”

He chuckled to himself, crouching down in front of Jughead now and stroking a hand down his face, until he clenched his chin in a firm grip, like he did in the car.

“No, I’m not a creep. I’m a master.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't really plan for Clifford to be this dark, but I'm going with it and I'll see where it ends up.
> 
> Again, a comment on what you liked would be marvellous on a day like today. This newly-20-year-old needs to know what you guys think!
> 
> I promise it won't be as long until the next update as this one was.
> 
> ~swagUPwindowsDOWN


	6. The barrel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Mr. Blossom, please, get to the part where you tell me why you’ve decided to pull your car alongside me, when any other day you would avoid my family like the plague. You haven’t pulled over to wish me a good morning.”
> 
> Jughead goes missing. At first they don't think too much of it, maybe he forgot the time, maybe he skipped class to write, but time goes on and Jughead still isn't there. His friends become worried, and rightfully so, because Jughead learns that Clifford Blossom is more of a threat than they first thought.
> 
> What's Clifford's plan? Can his friends find him before it's too late?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. This has been a long time coming and, for you guys, my readers, a long time to wait. I know that I have been a really bad author to leave this for so long. But I have a renewed determination for this story that I'm loving. I never really fell out of love with it, life just got in the way.
> 
> I hope beyond hope that I will gain all the readers I had before back, and that you forgive me for not updating for months and months. Let me know, also, that you're all still ok with reading a story that is based on and in season 1 because I know that we're almost at season 3 now...I CAN'T WAIT! :D
> 
> To make up for my shortfalls in updating, I have made sure this chapter is longer than my previous ones. The torture is going to a whole new level.

“Now tell me what I want to hear. What’s your name?”

A blast of icy water shot into his face at lightning fast speed. His reply came out gargled, half-drowned in the onslaught. His eyes stung even though he had closed them when he had seen what was coming, though the rest of his face was numb and tingly.

When Clifford had come back in the next day with an industrial hose, the pipe dragging behind him on the dusty floor, Jughead hadn’t exactly guessed what his game was. Perhaps the psychotic man was into gardening of all things, and had stopped past the barn on his way back from watering the posies to see his favourite prisoner? 

A much more logical explanation then followed.

He knew he stank. Two days in a barn would do that to you. It was muddy and the straw got everywhere. Not to mention all of the bugs that crawled lazily around the floor, and then on him, leaving even more dirt behind. He was covered in red bites from the mosquitos. And, although Clifford had been courteous, for once, and offered him bathroom breaks, he knew he hadn’t washed since the morning he was taken.

However, he used the term ‘bathroom breaks’ very…loosely. Of course, it was impossible for the human body to go as long as he had been captive without relieving itself. If he had even tried holding back then he could have done himself some real damage to his kidneys, and he really didn’t need to be fighting off an infection whilst living in such squalor. Clifford seemed to also realise this and had brought a bucket along with him.

* * *

_It wasn’t obvious what it was for at first. Jughead had been holding in the urge to pee for several hours now, not yet willing to surrender his dignity further than he already had and go in his pants like a toddler. His stomach was aching with the effort, the muscles cramping and twisting in protest. Clifford didn’t say a word as he approached, but just as Jughead had thought he was in for another round of beating, the man reached his hands around the pipe and unlocked the handcuffs keeping him bound there. Bruising fingers were quick to grab his unfastened wrists, and Jughead felt the unmistakable muzzle of Clifford’s gun pressed firmly into the space between his shoulder blades as he was yanked up onto wobbling legs._

_“You try anything and you’ll have a bullet in your back, understand?” Clifford threatened, cocking the pistol and digging it further into his spine._

_Jug nodded silently, his ribs flaming even more now that he was in an upright position. He staggered as the Blossom dragged him over the bucket and suddenly there were hands on his zipper. Jughead cried out, something resembling a ‘no’ and struggled, trying to get away from the man who was trying to violate him. He couldn’t escape though, especially when he felt the handcuffs click back into place around his sore wrists, but it didn’t stop him from twisting this way and that._

_“Keep still, boy!” Clifford ordered as he jabbed the gun along the middle of his torso, so much so that Jughead could feel the tiny bolts that held the thing together imprinting into his skin. “You can either co-operate and do your business in here, or I’ll leave you to do it in your pants! And don’t think I’d let you clean yourself up afterwards either. I don’t like my prizes to be dirty, and you’ll find yourself getting another broken rib if you choose that option.”_

__

_Jughead’s eyes watered as he thought about his options. He was in that horrible damned if you do, damned if you don’t scenario, and he couldn’t figure out which one was the least horrible. The thought of Clifford seeing his most intimate parts made him want to throw up, and that was before it even happened. However, he wouldn’t be putting himself at very good odds if he went with the other choice. He would need all of his strength to stay alert for an escape if the opportunity arose, and more broken ribs, and who knew what else, would really hinder that._

_The choice though, in the end, wasn’t his. As Jughead tried to decide quickly in his head, Clifford apparently got fed up and took the matter into his own hands…literally. It made Jughead later wonder whether he had actually had any say in the matter in the first place, but in a split second his jeans were down, along with his boxers, and he was unwillingly baring all to his captor._

_Jughead’s breath drew in sharply and it felt like he couldn’t breathe. All he could focus on was the man in front of him now looking down at him, way down, and the empty air around his legs. His heart pounded in his ears. He didn’t want to believe what was happening, but when Clifford cocked the gun again and nodded to the bucket, he knew what needed to be done, lest his body be sent back to his friends with bullet holes between the eyes._

_Fortunately, if there could be any fortune in this situation, the bucket was right underneath him and big enough that he didn’t have to aim. He wouldn’t have been able to do so himself with his hands cuffed and he sure didn’t want the man in front of him going any further than he already had. A broken whimper came out of his parched lips, and along with his stream, he let go another piece of his dignity._

_When it was done Clifford yanked his jeans and underwear back up roughly. His hand stayed around the zipper for an uncomfortable amount of time, and the teen grimaced when he felt a squeeze. Tears wet his eyelashes as he refused to crumble at the hands of the man in front of him, even though he could see Clifford’s smirk out of the corner of his eye._

_“There now,” Clifford led him back over to the pipe and swiftly cuffed him into place again, “that wasn’t so difficult, was it? Be sure to let me know the next time you need to go,” he added as he ruffled the boy’s hair and went to lock up the barn. The man peered through a gap in the slats of wood that made up his prison and grinned maliciously “I’ll always be happy to help.”_

* * *

"I said what’s your name?!” Clifford repeated, as he had many times since he had entered the barn, followed by another spurt of water.

Jughead had been wrong when he thought the Blossom’s aim was to simply give him a wash. He had been going over this mantra again and again, and at this point Jug couldn’t say how long this had been going on for. Clifford had told him what he expected from him when he came in. He knew what Clifford wanted him to say...but he just wouldn’t. He couldn’t. It was sick and twisted and he had no idea where he had come up with the idea, but so far it wasn’t working. He wasn’t about to let him win.

“J-J-Jughead,” he shivered, wishing he could pull his arms away from the back of the pipe and wrap them around his middle. He gave a half-hearted glare along with his response. He was getting weary of this game, but he wouldn’t give in.

Clifford’s hand clenched around the handle of the hose so hard that his knuckles went white. His eye twitched and he barely made a sound as he fired another torrent of water at the boy in front of him. This jet of water was longer than the others. Jughead choked and sputtered, breathing in enough of the water that he felt like he was drowning. When it finally stopped, he leant over to the side and promptly coughed up what he had inhaled.

“Name?”

“Jughead,” the teen bit his lip to try and stop the sarcastic reply he oh so wanted to say from slipping out, but it came anyway, “or Forsythe Pendleton Jones t-the Third, if you w-wanted to be really s-sp-specific.”

Jughead had barely blinked before Clifford was in front of him, roughly tugging him up despite his arms being bound. His joints stretched and pulled as his injured body was jolted once again and he barely contained the groan that threatened to spill from his lips.

“Do you realise what I’m investing here? My time, my commitment…I have big plans for you, son, but if you don’t show me the same level of respect, then I’m going to have to find alternative measures to make sure you listen up and behave like a good boy.” Clifford left Jughead leaning against the pole he was cuffed to as he stormed over to the other side of the barn where the wall was lined with barrels and barrels of maple syrup.

If he guessed, some of those barrels had been there for years, the maple syrup within maturing until it was earthy and took on some of the flavour harnessed by the wood it was encased in. The Blossoms certainly had a well-established empire, all of which was sitting in front of him. Some people may have called it maple syrup heaven, but he was currently in a maple syrup hell.

One barrel sat nearer Clifford, the one that the man was making his way towards. He pulled the lid off easily and peered inside, just for show. Jughead was still dripping wet, shivers overtaking his weak body. He was standing in what seemed like a lake, what with all the water that had been sent his way, and the hay that sparsely covered the ground was starting to smell somewhat like wet dog. Clifford didn’t seem to notice as he came over and uncuffed the boy again, though the man was wearing galoshes so he easily waded through. It didn’t stop Jughead from dampening the man’s own shirt as he was clutched tightly to ensure he wouldn’t escape.

In a few lumbered paces they were both over by the barrel. Jughead caught the waft of overpowering maple, and he guessed that the barrel had been previously used to store the product. Why it wasn’t now wasn’t a big concern, though that then posed the question as to why Clifford was having him view it now.

He didn’t see it coming.

In the days that he had been captured, he knew Clifford Blossom was stronger and faster than he looked. He’d managed to catch him from escaping, he’d overpowered him and cuffed him to the pole, as well as all the manhandling. His body had obviously aged well. That, or he had been having a lot of practice with this sort of thing. Maybe he ran a mile or two every morning, maybe he had a yoga routine or bench-pressed. If he ever saw Cheryl again, he would have to ask her. Because in no time at all, Jughead found himself swung up off of the ground and promptly deposited into the barrel.

Clifford shoved him down with such a force that his feet gave out from underneath him and he was sat chest to knees in the barrel. His hands were smushed behind him, still in the cuffs and pressing up against the back. He had always been a lean person, growing tall and toned rather than bulky, but he doubted even the girls being able to fit without being seriously uncomfortable.

What was he even saying? Who in their right mind would know if they fit in something like a barrel anyway? What psycho tried to force someone into one? 

Clifford Blossom, that was who.

“Get off me!” Jughead found his voice as he tried to lift himself out from his confines, his shoulders shimmying for leverage. He didn’t register one of the pressing hands disappearing until he heard the ‘snick’ of something metal. A small blade glimmered in his peripheral vision and swooped down, slicing the shoulder that had managed to get free. Jughead hissed as blood spilled out of the cut and ran down his jacketless arms, painting him with red stripes as the knife came down again and again.

“Ah!” Jughead cried as the blade stayed in a fresh wound and twisted, tearing all of the skin around it. The cuts started on the other arm as well, slicing and stinging until he had tears in his eyes. “Stop!”

The knife left as soon as he had uttered the word. He dared to glance up into Clifford’s smirking eyes, watching as he brought the weapon up to his lips and ran his tongue along flat edge. Jughead shivered in horror as the man licked the residue from his lips and smiled wickedly.

“So fresh,” he murmured sinisterly, “so full of fear and pain,” he pocketed the knife and pressed down on Jughead’s shoulders forcefully, nails digging into the fresh gashes and making Jughead moan in pain. “Now, in you go.”

Quickly, and with a disturbingly practised ease, Clifford shoved and manoeuvred the teenager’s body until he sunk further into the barrel, his limbs all caught up and squished together. He ignored the boy’s grunting in discomfort as he pressed his head down, so that it was practically in-between his knees. The position was not pleasant, and Clifford was all the happier for it, proud of himself for being able to fit a 16-year-old into the small container before him. The lid came down quickly, and he was done.

Jughead winced as his body screamed out in agony. His ribs burned from having his knees jammed into them. His breaths came out short and sharp as his chest didn’t have the room to move in and out fully in the cramped space. He could feel splinters digging into all of the places that his clothes didn’t cover – his arms, his neck, his hands – and they stung something fierce. The cuts on his arms and shoulders were oozing everywhere, leaving him feeling sticky and sore. His hands were going numb from being crushed behind his back, his neck was bent at an unrelenting angle and he couldn’t see a thing.

He couldn’t move. His breath was warm and rebounded off of his knees with each puff, meaning that he soon was feeling stifled without having been in there barely a minute. He hadn’t ever experienced claustrophobia before, but he couldn’t do anything apart from focus on how much his body was screaming at him, how quickly the air was becoming stale, and how the small space felt like it was baring down on him even more than it was.

He tried listening for sounds to see if Clifford had left or if he was watching, tried counting the seconds that had passed. But it wasn’t working, and as the sweat started dripping down his forehead, he felt panic rise. That was nothing though, the real show hadn’t even begun.

A foot came into the side of the barrel, making him jump out of his skin and hit his head on the lid. Another on the other side, and he may have called out in surprise. There was no pattern and his mind crawled with adrenaline as he tried to guess where the next impact would come.

Then, one particularly hard kick came, with so much force that his container wobbled on the spot. Another with the same force hailed down, and one more in quick succession. The barrel wobbled around, Jughead lost his balance also, and then it came off of its bottom altogether. It toppled over onto its side, Jughead yelling out in fright. And then, he was rolling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think!
> 
> It may seem hard to fit a teenager in a barrel, but Clifford has gone and done it anyway. Poor Jughead. Can it get any worse?
> 
> Thanks for reading,
> 
> ~swagUPwindowsDOWN


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